Check
by windscryer
Summary: There was only one thing on Dean's list that didn't get done. Spoilers for Lazarus Rising.


Disclaimer: 1 creative brain + 1 laptop computer + 1 word processing program + 1 internet connection + 2 stolen TV characters equals more fun than a fangirl should be allowed to have :evil cackle:

* * *

When they left Pontiac, Illinois, it was with Sam behind the wheel.

Though he was dying to know what had happened to his brother during the summoning while Bobby had been unconscious from a chunk of two-by-four that had hit him in the head, he hadn't questioned being given the keys.

Dean had been quiet for three days now. Sam had stuck close, both because he didn't want Dean to have to worry about him, and because, well, he was a little worried himself still that if he let Dean out of his sight for too long he'd disappear and Sam would wake up to find it had all been a dream.

Dean hadn't protested. Although he hadn't really been there _to_ protest. The physical proximity should have been driving him nuts, but while Dean's body was there, in the hotel room, in the diner booth, in the Impala, Dean's thoughts were quite obviously far, far away.

So when Sam woke up to Dean packing his duffel and then, after checking out, tossed the keys to Sam and said he was driving, Sam didn't question it. His duffel had been packed quickly while Dean was working on his, they'd eaten breakfast at a diner on the way out of town, and now they were on the road again.

_Damn it felt good_, Sam thought, a smile curling his lips in a way that four months ago he would have sworn would never happen again.

Dean hadn't said anything about a destination, just seemed to want to be headed anywhere but where they were, so Sam got on the road and just drove.

That lasted about three hours until Dean fell asleep.

Now, Sam had been watching his brother sleep for the last few days—and a helluva lot more nights before that—so he wasn't at all surprised by the nightmares.

What _did_ surprise him were the new elements to the nightmares.

The stifled whimpers. The way Dean's body would lock up, arms and legs stretched out spread-eagled, and then the way his limbs would twitch and jerk, like he was trying to free himself from some kind of restraints. The broken way Dean would whisper his name, his voice rough and hoarse as though exhausted almost to muteness.

The way Dean would wake up gasping and trembling, and rub at his right collarbone, halfway between the neck and the shoulder, like it pained him.

He'd peel off his sweat-soaked shirt, examine the hand print on his shoulder, lightly brush a finger over the raised mark, then mutter something to himself that Sam never could quite make out from his spot on the other bed.

Sam couldn't help but wonder if these nightmares were remnants of Dean's time in Hell.

They had to be, right? Because Sam couldn't think of _anything_ in their past that could cause these sorts of nasty twisted dreams to plague Dean. Especially since there had never been anything like this _before_ Dean spent four months in the Pit.

As the routine started up again here in the Impala, Sam frowned.

He thought about it for a moment—and felt immediately stupid that it took that long for him to come up with the idea—then reached over and pushed the tape that was hanging out of the deck all the way in.

He had to fast forward a couple of songs, but then he found something by Metallica, and he adjusted the volume and sat back.

Sam liked to think it was the soothing—for Dean anyway—nature of the music that calmed his brother down and sent him into deeper, less disturbed, sleep.

But whether he was right or not, Sam was just glad Dean wasn't whimpering anymore.

That was the worst part for Sam, hearing his brother, Dean Winchester, self-proclaimed Supreme Badass of all Motherfucking Badasses, whimper like a scared little kid faced with the monster under his bed come to life.

A kid who wasn't a Winchester anyway.

Dean snuffled and turned slightly in his sleep, murmuring something that was definitely not part of a nightmare.

Sam smiled and kept driving.

o.o

Sam continued to drive every day.

They'd crawl out of the hotel room, find breakfast—or at least coffee—and then Dean would toss Sam the keys and climb into shotgun without a word.

Sam never asked where to go and Dean never said.

Sam would turn on Metallica when Dean's dreams got too intense and he'd settle down eventually.

Otherwise?

They just drove.

o.o

They crossed the state line into Arizona from Utah when Sam had a sudden idea.

He pulled over at the side of the road and yanked out from under his seat the old worn atlas that they rarely used now and that was actually only about a year younger than he was. But it should still be able to tell him- He grinned.

Even if it wasn't exact on mileage or route, it was close enough.

Dean opened his eyes and blinked, sliding into a more upright position and wiping at the corner of his mouth for any drool that might be there.

"Sammy?" he said. "What's going on? We stopped?"

"Just had to . . ." Sam thought about it, but quickly gave up on trying to find a good excuse. "Nothing's wrong. Go back to sleep."

Dean blinked at him for a few seconds with a far more penetrating stare than Sam had seen in a week at least, then shrugged and closed his eyes, slumping down again.

"Whatever. Wake me when we stop for dinner."

Sam just nodded with a, "Sure, Dean," and signaled, merging back onto the freeway with a grin.

o.o

When Dean felt the car slow down considerably, he decided to give up on pretending to sleep.

He stretched and wiggled a little in his seat to loosen his muscles up and inform them that he'd be asking a lot more of them shortly, then blinked his eyes open and looked around.

"Uh, Sammy?"

"Yeah, Dean?"

"Why is there a blindfold covering my eyes?" And why hadn't he noticed it before? How long had it been there anyway? Damn, he was slipping. Too much crap to think about.

He needed to get his head back in the game and stop thinking about crazy things that he couldn't do anything about anyway.

"You'll see," Sam said with a little chuckle that said he was quite pleased with that bit of humor.

"Uh huh."

Dean reached up to remove the blindfold, but his hands were slapped away.

"Stop it. We're almost there, Dean."

The road curved a bit and then there was another sharp turn that ended with a stop, the car being put in park, and the engine cut.

"Now?"

"Not yet," Sam said and climbed out.

Dean sighed in annoyance, but it was only half-hearted.

Frankly he was a little bit excited to see what Sammy had cooked up. It reminded Dean more of the Sammy he remembered before his trip to Hell—before the deal that_ led_ to the trip to Hell_—_and less of this new, darker, way more emo version that had taken over since then.

His door was opened and then a hand was placed on his shoulder.

"Okay, careful now," Sam said as he guided him out of the car.

"Seriously, Dude, what is going on?"

"Just go with me on this, okay, Dean?"

"Fine," Dean said, extending an arm. "Lead the way."

Sam kept his hands on Dean's shoulders as he guided him forward.

After about twenty feet or so, they stopped.

"Okay," Sam said, sounding inordinately pleased with himself. "_Now_ you can take the blindfold off."

Dean reached up and slipped the cloth over his head, blinking in the light.

Then he stopped cold. His jaw hung open slightly as he took in the vista before him.

Stretching out for most of what could be seen, and maybe a little beyond that, was nothing.

In fact, it was the biggest damn expanse of nothing in the United States.

"The Grand Canyon?" Dean said, just a little bit of awe in his voice.

Sam was smiling, but Dean was so focused on going over to the guardrails at the edge of the parking lot that he didn't see it.

Dean climbed over and crossed the short distance to the edge, warily sliding as close to it as he dared.

He looked down and felt a wave of vertigo, prompting him to rapidly back up.

"Whoa," he breathed. "That's really far down."

Then he grinned and finally peeled his eyes away from it to look at his brother.

"Thanks," he said simply, quietly, sincerely.

Sam shrugged. "Well, we didn't get to do it before . . ."

_Before you died,_ he didn't say.

"And unless I'm mistaken it was the only thing left on your list."

Dean's smile turned a little chick-flicky and he turned away to look at the view while he regained his composure.

"Thanks, Sam," he finally said again when he was fairly sure he could do so without sounding all girly and choked up.

"You're welcome, Dean," was the soft reply.

There was a moment of silence.

"That is one big fucking hole."

Sam laughed.

"You know, they do burro rides down the side to the bottom of it. We're not in any rush to get anywhere. We could stay a few days and explore it a little bit more."

Dean turned back and smiled.

"Nah. This was cool enough. Gotta leave something for next time."

"You sure?" Sam said. "There's a platform on the other side I think you'd like. Clear bottomed and it goes like eighty feet out over the edge."

Dean's eyes lit up. "Seriously? Dude, we are _so_ there."

Sam laughed again. "Unfortunately it's a little late today. That area's closed down already I think. Plus it's on the other side of this 'big fucking hole'."

"Tomorrow then. We'll find a place to sleep on the other side and be out here bright and early to enjoy God's majesty."

Sam quirked his head at the odd turn of phrase and the even odder tonal twist Dean had put on it.

But he didn't ask.

He just tossed the car keys to Dean and headed back to take shotgun.

Dean stayed a moment longer, then followed.

When he climbed in and cranked the AC/DC as loud as it would go, Sam relaxed into his seat and closed his eyes.

They still had problems. Big problems. Potentially end of the world problems.

But they also had each other.

And between their dad and now Dean they'd proven that Hell didn't scare Winchesters easily and couldn't even keep hold of them.

And despite all the uncertainty, Sam felt better about their odds of success than he had in a long time.

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Review, please and thanks.


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